


gone, and through the glass again

by dragulamutual



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24060709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragulamutual/pseuds/dragulamutual
Summary: if nothing else, al is trying.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	gone, and through the glass again

It was absurd, he thought, kicking the office door and letting it swing shut with a bang. He was counted on constantly to clean up everyone’s messes, solve everyone’s problems - it was his job, for Christ’s sake - but who was there when  _ he _ needed it?

He laughed to himself - the kind of dry laugh produced only by angsty teenagers or nihilists - because he had  _ everyone _ . Hershel, Flora, Katrielle, Lucy, even  _ Florence _ , for fuck’s sake, they’d all made it explicitly clear that he could go to them whenever he needed. They’d staged an intervention, almost, after one particularly bad night; sat him down, gave him tea, told him they were there, that he wasn’t bothering them. He was laughing still, like it was all an elaborate charade - and it was, it had to be, they were lying,  _ of course _ .

‘I’m not a  _ child,’  _ he’d told them through a mouthful of coffee, kicking his feet up onto the beam he’d shaken loose under his desk, spinning himself around on his chair. Nobody said anything. Flora sighed, running a hand through her hair. Lucy was suddenly very interested in the pot of ink sitting on the desk to her left.

‘Nobody said you’re a child, Al,’ Hershel replied, voice steady and as infuriatingly calm as usual. ‘It’s not childish to need support from people that care about you.’

‘I don’t  _ need  _ anything, thanks. I can cope perfectly fine by myself.’

And God, he tried. He’d coped through a half-decent string of days where the best he felt was mediocre, kept his hands full with work to stop them wandering into his liquor cabinet, smiled too widely at Lucy when she needed reassurance. And then it was Wednesday, and he felt like  _ shit,  _ but he’d told them he could cope, so he did _ \-  _ rolled reluctantly out of bed, pumped his veins with caffeine, and strode into the office to see Lucy. She was chipper as always, beaming through fucking murder cases. She’d asked if he was doing alright, and he’d reflected her billion-dollar smile right back in her face and lied through gritted teeth. She didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t push. It was the morning. She knew better.

As he grabbed a file later that evening and watched her walk out, half of him wished she didn’t know better - but whose fault was that, that she’d only begun to do so after he’d snapped at her for being a good friend? That's what happened, he learned: you don’t tell people that you aren’t doing well. They’ll pity you. Nobody pities you when you shut up and act busy.

An hour or so later, after he had obviously not done a good enough job of shutting up and acting busy, Lucy opened the door. She’d forgotten her coat (or bag, or whatever excuse she was using that time), and not even blinked as she stepped through thick clouds of smoke and saw him half-conscious at his desk. She ignored his lazy wave and groan of protest and did what she’d done many times before: picked up her coat, grabbed his phone and dialed Flora’s number, recounting his state into the cracked glass like it was second nature. Flora pulled up at the office, all smiles and rose perfume and comforting glances in Lucy’s direction, and looked at Al like he was still fifteen. He wasn’t in the position to argue. He sat in the back of her car, head lolling back against the window, and pretended not to see Lucy's sad eyes. This was never any good, and was never going to get any better. He’d have to try harder next time. 

They put him to bed in Flora’s spare room and he hated how much it made him feel like he was back in high school, but wasn’t in any state to argue. As he drifted off to sleep, he could hear them talking outside the door.

‘Does it ever get any easier?’ he heard Lucy ask.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Him just… refusing to accept any help,’ she continued. ‘I want to help him, and he won’t take it. Fendi at least  _ tries  _ to act like he’s taking it on board.’

‘He’s stubborn,’ Flora replied through a sigh. ‘but all we can do is try.’

**Author's Note:**

> once again, i pop my head up, drop a tiny oneshot like a bomb, and run  
> for reference, i hate level-5's nicknames for al's alters, so here (and, as a safe bet, in everything i post involving him), 'al' refers to OG, Dark Haired Edgelord Alfendi, and 'fendi' is Mr. I Have Not Slept In A Week, But Can Hold A Conversation With A Stranger On The Street.  
> i'm on tumblr @meegis / @herzencastle for my layton sideblog, hmu to scream abt lbmr and how much we need more content!


End file.
